The Inner History of a Day

No one knew the name of this day;
Born quietly from deepest night,
It hid its face in light,
Demanded nothing for itself,
Opened out to offer each of us
A field of brightness that traveled ahead,
Providing in time, ground to hold our footsteps
And the light of thought to show the way.

The mind of the day draws no attention;
It dwells within the silence with elegance
To create a space for all our words,
Drawing us to listen inward and outward.

We seldom notice how each day is a holy place
Where the eucharist of the ordinary happens,
Transforming our broken fragments
Into an eternal continuity that keeps us.

Somewhere in us a dignity presides
That is more gracious than the smallness
That fuels us with fear and force,
A dignity that trusts the form a day takes.

So at the end of this day, we give thanks
For being betrothed to the unknown
And for the secret work
Through which the mind of the day
And wisdom of the soul become one.

From John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings.

Today, as both the details and the mystery of the recent tragedy in Las Vegas emerge with greater clarity, I found myself rummaging through my little library for words of comfort, for meaning-making words that could get me moving, though my spirit feels heavy.  My prayer today is that we will notice how this day “is a holy place where the eucharist of the ordinary happens, transforming our broken fragments into an eternal continuity that keeps us.”

As Houston Canterbury starts to delve into the songs of affliction and solace of scripture at Bohemeo’s on Tuesday nights, I invite you (students, faculty, and staff) to share those meaning-making words that speak to you in these days.  Feel free to send in YouTube links, text, recordings in your own voice, and we will share the journey through this blog (send to eobrien@houstoncanterbury.org).